Page 22 of When You're Forgotten

Her hold on his arm tightened fractionally.“Deal.Don’t you dare pass out on me again.”

A faint grin twitched at the corners of his mouth, but he couldn’t quite muster a full smile.The day had escalated from sunshine and family chatter to violence in the span of minutes.As they moved deeper into the hall, Hobbs came into view, the children nowhere to be seen (likely guided back to their game or to a safer room).Next to him, Marianne reappeared with a small kit in her hands, face etched with concern.

“Come on,” Marianne said, voice trembling a bit, “let’s get that wound cleaned up.”She cast a glance at Judd, still lingering by the front door, arms crossed.“Judd, would you mind giving us some space?”

He huffed a quiet breath, nodded, and stepped aside.But as Finn passed, Judd leaned in just enough to whisper, “We really do need to talk.I might know things James didn’t share with anyone else.”

Finn lifted his gaze, catching the seriousness in Judd’s eyes.“I’ll find you later,” he murmured back.Then Amelia tugged Finn forward gently.

They proceeded into the hallway leading to the kitchen, dim lamp sconces lighting the path.The hush enveloped them again, disturbed only by their footsteps and the faint echo of children’s voices somewhere deeper in the house.Finn’s head pounded in sync with his heartbeat, a reminder of the intruder’s unexpected blow.

Yet a flicker of triumph darted through his thoughts—someone was desperate enough to break in, rummage through James’s private papers, or the study.This had all the hallmarks of a secret worth killing for, or at least a secret that demanded stealth at any cost.The puzzle’s pieces kept multiplying: the siblings at odds, the best friend with unspoken knowledge, the ghostly shapes on camera, the hush around James’s finances, and now a masked assailant rummaging in the very room James likely kept the estate’s records.

Clenching his jaw, Finn resolved not to rest until he uncovered the truth.Even if it meant another unexpected brawl or a blow to the head.He had come here with Amelia to determine whether James Penrose truly died from a mere heart condition or if forces more sinister lay behind the tragedy.The day’s events only strengthened his resolve to see this through.

Amelia guided him through the kitchen doorway, and he allowed himself to be led inside.The scent of coffee and fresh bread lingered from the morning preparations.Marianne set the kit on a small table, pulling out antiseptic and gauze with shaking hands.

While Amelia helped dab at the cut on Finn’s head, Finn couldn’t help but recall Judd’s cryptic words.“We need to talk.”That meant more potential revelations.With the stinging sensation of disinfectant pressing into his scalp, he cast Amelia a sidelong look.She gave him the slightest nod, as if reading his mind: they'd chase down Judd’s confession, figure out what had triggered James’s final, fatal crisis, and hopefully do it before another masked menace ambushed them.

CHAPTER TEN

Finn sat in one of the worn wooden chairs by the large kitchen table, head throbbing from the strike he had taken earlier.The midday sun, pouring through the high mullioned windows, brought a gentle warmth that clashed with the tension coiled inside him.Amelia hovered at his side, worry flickering in her gaze as she examined the shallow but persistent cut on his scalp.Across from them stood Marianne Penrose, her posture taut with concern.The kitchen itself, large and built for bustling household staff, had a certain rustic charm—pale stone floors, a wide hearth, and countertops of scuffed but sturdy oak.

Amelia set down a dishcloth she'd been using to dab at Finn’s cut, exhaling in frustration.“We came here thinking it might be a closed book—heart attack, end of story—but with an intruder rummaging around and you taking a blow to the head, I’m starting to think Brynmor Hall is more dangerous than we realized.”

Finn tried to smile through the dull ache radiating across his temple.“Yes, well, I can confirm that the blood coming out of my head feels pretty active.If that’s a gauge for how lively this case is, we’re in trouble.”

Before Amelia could muster a retort, Mrs Hughes entered, her right hand trembling slightly, carrying a ceramic bowl of water and a small tray loaded with medical supplies—cotton pads, antiseptic, and gauze.“Mr.Wright, Miss Winters—here you are,” she said.“I’ll leave these for you.If there’s anything else you need, please call.”She set them on the table, gave a respectful bob of her head, and then exited, disappearing through the kitchen’s open doorway.

Amelia reached for the antiseptic bottle first.“Let’s get you cleaned up, partner.”But before she could begin, Marianne lifted a hand in gentle protest.

“Let me,” the widow said softly.“I trained as a nurse years ago, before I married James.I might be a bit out of practice, but I can handle a cut on the scalp.”

Finn offered a nod.“I appreciate it, truly.”He glanced at Amelia, who shrugged and stepped aside.

Marianne rinsed her hands in the bowl of water, then eased onto the seat beside Finn.She dabbed a cotton pad with antiseptic and leaned in, her expression grave.She touched the cloth to his wound with a gentle pressure, and he winced at the sting.

“Sorry,” Marianne murmured.“Almost done.We need to stop the bleeding.”

As she worked, Finn studied her face.Pale from shock or from sorrow, or both, her eyes carried faint rings of fatigue.She’d done her best to remain poised—especially around her children—but the strain weighed visibly on her.

Just then, the kitchen door swung open.Donald, the cook, stepped inside.He wore a stained apron from his morning's labors."What in the—?"he blurted, halting at the sight of Finn's bloodied hair.

Finn forced a reassuring half-smile.“Don’t worry.I had a bit of a scuffle.Nothing too grave.”

Donald let out a short sigh, leaning one hand on the table.“A scuffle with what exactly?The entire house is talking about how you chased someone out to the woods.Is that true?”

Amelia nodded.“He was definitely an intruder—broke into James’s study upstairs, rummaging around, then fled.”

A grim line formed on Donald’s lips.“If it’s that dangerous, maybe us staff should pack up.We’re not paid to wrestle with criminals.”He turned to Marianne.“Ma’am, if the house is under attack, you can’t put us in harm’s way.Might be wise to close the place for a bit.”

Marianne set aside a bloodstained pad and reached for a fresh one, her voice tense but firm.“I’m not shutting Brynmor Hall just because someone broke a vase or two.I won’t let phantoms chase me and the children away.”

Donald’s eyebrows rose.“Well, the phantoms might not give you any choice, ma’am,” he murmured under his breath.Then, shaking his head, he ducked out of the kitchen, perhaps returning to his cooking domain.

Finn twitched at the sting when Marianne pressed a final wad of gauze to his head.He noticed Amelia cast him a concerned look.

“Thanks,” he murmured to Marianne.“So, you think you can patch me up with that nurse experience?”

---